A Life for a Lesson
by watchfuldreamer
Summary: Gratitude.That was what he felt. Gratitude for the lesson she had taught him. He just wished that learning hadn't come at the price of her life.


**AN: Here we go again, with what may be the scariest thing I've ever done in my life—Enjolras POV. So this is Eponine's death from Enjolras's POV, another request that I've gotten. Not so sure about this one, guys. Enjolras is hard to write, let me tell you. I hope I've done him justice. He deserves it.  
**

**I won't be able to get any more posted for about a week, just to let you know…sorry! I'll be out of town and stuff.**

**But you know—let me know what you think, please suggest and request ideas for one-shots! I love all of your ideas!**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Les Mis. So sad, but so true.**

Enjolras had only a few moments to survey the scene that lay before him before the fighting broke out, so he pushed aside all thoughts of traitors and spies—for now—and turned back to the task at hand. They were vastly outnumbered, they were untrained, and they were for all purposes very much at a disadvantage. However, Enjolras's faith did not waver. Courfeyrac was on one side of him, Marius on the other. Both wore identical expressions of grim determination, guns at the ready. Taking a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what he knew was coming, Enjolras readied his own weapon. And just in time.

"Fire!" the captain shouted, and instantly chaos descended upon them. Enjolras's first bullet hit a soldier in the shoulder. He gritted his teeth, frustrated. He would need to do better than that if—when—he was to succeed. Another shot. A soldier dropped. Even as cold guilt and pain began to trickle though him, Enjolras refused to show it. For Patria, he reminded himself over and over again, forcing his face to remain expressionless. He would gladly carry the guilt of taking these lives if it meant that the citizens of France would have a brighter future.

Someone handed him a loaded gun, and Enjolras took a brief moment to look down at him. A brown hat was perched upon his head, effectively obscuring Enjolras's view of the boy's face. Enjolras simply nodded his thanks, unable to take the time to thank him verbally, and continued. The shock of taking life after life made his movements methodical, accurate but not graceful.

Eventually, however, he was roughly pulled down from his place on the barricade. Enjolras swung around to find Combeferre in front of him, eyes wide. "Enjolras, I need your left getting the wounded into the café," he said simply, gravely. His tone was as accommodating as it ever was, but the form of his statement caught Enjolras off guard. This was barely even a request. How many were wounded already? He knew that the army was steadily advancing, but were so many of their own men wounded?

Nodding his assent, Enjolras followed Combeferre as they quickly darted between those crowding the barricade. On the way, a whispered conversation that struck Enjolras as strangely out of place at this explosive battle caught his attention. Gavroche stood in front of the same boy who had handed Enjolras his gun, clearly arguing with him. The hat still obscured Enjolras's view of the boy's face, and his voice, though Enjolras could hardly hear it, was low and rough. He wore a coat that hung off of his small frame loosely, indicating how long it had been since he had had a decent meal. Finally, however, the argument ended with the older boy nodding in assent before slipping back into the crowd. Enjolras had figured that the boy was a boy of the streets, just like Gavroche…but exactly how many boys like Gavroche were there lining the streets?

Shaking his head, Enjolras directed his attention back to Combeferre, who was helping three or four wounded men to their feet. Enjolras quickly draped one man's arm over his shoulder, half-carrying him to the safety and medical attention that the café could provide.

On his way back to the barricade, job finished, Marius's voice rang out even above the rampant gunshots: "Stand back or I'll blow the barricade!"

Soldiers lined the top of the barricade, with Marius singlehandedly, it seemed, holding them at bay with nothing but a torch and a barrel of powder. Enjolras took a few steps toward the barricade, temporarily shocked beyond all rationality, but stopped, reason returning. If he continued, there was a good chance that none of them would live past this night. So he was still.

"And yourself with it?" the captain asked, disbelief etched on his face as he stared Marius down. Calling his bluff.

Marius swallowed hard, seeming to come to a resolution. He lowered the torch slightly, to the captain's astonishment. "And myself with it," he answered firmly.

Enjolras blinked, as astounded as the captain. Regret instantly flooded him. Marius had told him just a few nights previously that he would fight with them at the barricade, but he hadn't believed him. Marius had a girl that he was 'lost without,' after all…and now he was proving his dedication to the cause a hundred times over, and Enjolras hadn't believed that Marius was committed.

Suddenly, a gun swung around to point straight at Marius's heart. Enjolras thought to let out a shout in warning, but something—some_one_—got there first. A dark figure shot to the top of the barricade and grabbed the gun, wrenching the barrel away from Marius just before the gun went off. Enjolras, now certain that Marius was alive—for this moment, at the very least—continued to stare at the altercation in front of him. Would they be alive for much longer?

The torch lowered.

"Retreat!" the captain shouted.

Enjolras's shoulders released tension that he hadn't even realized he had held. For a few more moments, they would be allowed to live. Until the people of Paris came to their aid, their job had been to survive. Obstacle now overcome, renewed confidence entered him. The citizens would rise up during the night. The other barricades would succeed as they had this night. The revolution was working.

"Eponine? What have you done?" Marius's voice interrupted his thoughts. Eponine? The streetwise girl he often saw with Marius? But she wasn't even at the barricade…

His gaze fell on the young boy Marius was addressing. The same boy that had given Enjolras his gun, who had been arguing with Gavroche. He bent down and took off the hat, revealing a long mane of matted brown hair. It was indeed the lonely girl. She had been the one to pull the gun away from Marius. But at what cost? As Marius pulled back the coat that would fit someone double her size, Enjolras's eyes narrowed as others' widened.

The bullet had been stopped by her.

Marius began talking urgently, speaking of medical attention, but Enjolras knew that it was no use. The girl had made her choice, and now she was to die because of it.

Apparently, she knew it, too.

"Don't you fret, Monsieur Marius," she said, as firmly as her condition would allow. "I don't feel any pain. A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now." She chucked slightly, leaning her head upon Marius's shoulder and closing her eyes, only to open them again a moment later.

Enjolras was impressed with this girl, almost against his will. What he had experienced of love had been Marius's senseless ramblings about Cosette that had taken his mind so briefly yet so completely from the revolution at hand. While this girl was as blind as Marius, in her own way, she was devoted. And, further, she was trying to ease his pain while pushing her own aside.

"You're here. That's all I need to know," she whispered fervently. "And you will keep me safe, and you will keep me close."

Enjolras raked his gaze over the girl, trying diligently to understand her. From the state of her physical appearance—ragged and worn—how long had it been since she had last felt safe? With all his talk of revolution and how the lower class needed to rise, would be able to rise, had he ever stopped looking at them as a group enough to see them as distinct individuals? Had he ever spoken to any of their class about anything but the revolution, besides little Gavroche?

They were more connected to each other than they were to Enjolras and his ideas of reform and revolution. Eponine had been arguing with Gavroche earlier, it was true, but her hand had been upon his shoulder protectively. Besides Marius, she had never treated any other student in such a manner. She had never even spoken to any of them. But had the students tried to bridge the gap? No, so why would she?

For the first time, Enjolras felt a seed of doubt sprout in his mind. If he had never reached down to them as individuals with wants and needs and fears, why would they rise up for him and his friends? What Enjolras had been preaching was an idea, but he had never truly seen the people themselves. Just the group that needed to be saved.

His eyes returned to Eponine. Marius held her face in his hands, whispering words of comfort and of kindness as she smiled weakly back at him. Marius, unlike Enjolras, had noticed Eponine as the individual that she was, even if he had never seen her in the way that she had wanted.

It was that act, being seen by him, that had prompted her feelings for him. Those feelings in turn had prompted her to overcome her fear and protect Marius with her life.

"I see you," he said quietly, as the light flickered in her eyes and, at last, went out.

Gratitude. That was what he felt. A surprising emotion, given the turn of events. Yet he couldn't deny it.

Gratitude for teaching him a valuable lesson about the reasons that people are willing to lay down their lives for another.

He just wished that learning hadn't come on the price of her life.


End file.
